


Lockdown (with Dev Patel's Characters)

by royalsunshinehotel



Category: Dev Patel - Fandom
Genre: COVID-19 tw, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royalsunshinehotel/pseuds/royalsunshinehotel
Summary: Everyone's doing their best.
Relationships: Jay Menha/ Reader, Sanjay Menha/Reader





	1. Chapter 1

May 2020. 

“Jay, you can’t be serious.” You say quietly head down, staring at your lap. You’d come into some anxiety, COVID-19 against your insecurities in your relationship. He’s out of your league, and he feels the same for you. It’s just a giant trap. 

“South Dakota isn’t a good place even without a deathly illness.” White Supremacists, farmers, and wolves. 

You don’t want Jay around wildlife, he’d definitely try and fight a wolf.

“We need the money.” You scoff, taking a few steps out into your living room. He steps so lightly, but you can still feel him as he follows you. 

“I’ve got a job, are you serious?” It wasn’t great, but money is money, especially in times like these. 

In a way you were angry, so deeply angry, that the customers you had to interact with just … didn’t care. They didn’t care if you lived or died and you felt the same. 

You’d done everything right. You’d worked your ass off in school, you’d gotten the degree, but your research program had been the first to go when the Pandemic hit. 

“We need the money, you’re in danger every single day.” His voice is low, eyes half shut, like he was trying to convince himself. It was like he knew he was being impractical, but he didn’t want to be.

You were familiar with that feeling. 

“I can pay for food and this apartment, we’re fine.” You know he’s bored, he’s restless, and you can’t do anything to help him, to get him some relief. He’s been stewing for weeks, for what? 

“We need more.” You place your hands on his. You were going to beg if you had to. He tenses into your touch and your blood goes cold. 

“Is there anything I can say to make you stay?” Jay stares down at your hands for a moment, hardening his gaze before he looks back up at you. 

You’re finished, you quickly drop your grip on him.

“Be safe.” Your heart suddenly decides to try and escape your chest, but you keep it together until he steps out the door. No kiss goodbye, nothing. You knew you were going to regret him, but not like this. 

You have to lay down on your living room floor, your back cracks as the tension of the conflict is released. Sometimes laying on the floor makes things seem clearer, but not today. 

You’re terrified. 

COVID-19. You’d read everything that you could, you’d made the biggest effort to stay off social media, and you’d gotten a routine trying to keep Jay safe. 

You come home from work, boil yourself in the shower, and come out for dinner. 

Things had stagnated though, you know what he does for work. He’d gone on about three jobs in your past six months together, and he’d always seemed slightly different whenever he’d come back. 

He wants to leave again, and you realize how much he needs it. 

Maybe he doesn’t know how to do anything else. 

You take a deep breath, trying to get your vision to focus. The whole concept of the two of you was ridiculous. He’d die in a crappy motel, and not be able to contact you. He might get to a hospital and be turned away, what if he gets a bed and they can’t even find his real name, you don’t even know his name. 

You’re not his emergency contact, you’ve got nothing.

The carpet you’d thrown yourself down on was soft, a dark maroon, soft, setting off your furniture’s dark varnish. 

You’d never noticed it before. It caught the dying sunlight, once warm, now felt cold. You had no idea where it had come from, or how long the rug had been in the apartment. 

Maybe Jay had bought it, he seemed to make a habit of buying home décor. 

You’d noticed the lamp he’d put in your bedroom immediately, but he’d deflected when you complimented the design. 

Maybe the thought made you cry.

You cry.

You cry a lot. Probably until you passed out. 

It was suddenly a few hours later. It must have been, the sky was the blackish-grey you could only find past 7pm. Jay must have left around five. 

There’s a knock at the door, 

You have to move, right? You can’t just ignore it. 

Slowly, you shuffle over to open the flimsy door. 

It’s Jay, he’s here. He seems like he’s two dimensional, tired. You don’t know what to think. 

You never seem to know what to think anymore. 

“Back already?” You ask quietly, taking him in. you must look hideous, but he somehow looks even worse, a daring feat for someone so handsome. 

“I didn’t get out of the driveway.” Jay’s voice is low, rasping. He’s got his jacket on, boots lace tight, and backpack half-open. His eyes look red, like he’d been rubbing them too hard. 

“Are you staying?” You may not want to know the answer, but you ask the question anyway. 

He’s quiet, as he usually is, the pause is deafening, “Yeah. There’s nothing I do that can’t wait.” He steps forward, through the doorway. Jay plants a warm kiss on your forehead. You move to the side and let him back in.


	2. Lockdown with Anwar Kharral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're an essential worker and he's worried.

July 2020. 

You’re dreaming about him. 

Anwar was an important man, he has movies to make, and he wasn’t entirely keen on giving control away. Anwar likes control, Anwar is control, it’s how he’d gotten so far. He had to have everything planned out at least a week in advance, and this is where you’d been able to help him. 

However, he doesn’t control you, which is why you’d barely seen him in three months. 

You’re a pediatrician, and a good one at that. Even after you’d started seeing Anwar, you’d kept working, and the press loved that for you. He did too until COVID-19 hit America. 

Anwar wants to take you back home, but it’s not like the UK’s any better. You weren’t sure if you’d actually go, as the two of you were still new, and he’d done so much for you already.

He’d had you set up in a hotel room owned by one of his friends. It was a little too clean for your taste, but there was no better place to quarantine. 

Anwar was only across town, right? You want to curl up with him and watch movies until things don’t seem as bad as they are. That’s what everyone else gets to do. He was a matter of blocks away, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to see him. You couldn’t. 

But not you, your bones are still heavy from the previous shift. And there’s another shift. And another. 

You can’t keep this up, but you have to. Love making the world go ‘round was extremely painful, and not as easy as the patronizing commercials made it seem. You go on anyway. 

Love.

You rest for a moment, eyes closed before you decide to start your day. 

Anwar should be here, you should be able to go outside without preparation, and you should be planning your lives past the next week. It’s just not fair. 

You vaguely hear your phone buzz. He calls you twice every day, trying to keep you on the phone as long as possible.

“Good morning,” he says, hair completely frizzed out, like he’s just woken up.

Something is always off, but you knew what it was. 

He’s scrambling, he has been for weeks now. The math behind keeping his team safe was getting harder and harder, and it was leaving a mark. 

You knew for a fact that he could afford it, but sometimes the numbers didn’t come as easily as they should. 

Anwar’s wearing his stupid flannel pajamas, seeing him wearing those hurt. You’re supposed to be wearing those. You’re supposed to be with him, not fighting an invisible dragon. 

The phone makes him seems too far away, the metallic sound of his voice making you want to go back to sleep. 

Anwar makes notes, what you should have in the bathroom, and bedroom. The hotel was empty, except for you and a handful of your co-workers from the hospital, who had been semi-displaced to keep their families safe. 

“How’s life?” He asks, as you bunch your pillow under your chin. 

“Oh you know, I miss you.” You rub a hand over your face. You feel too dry. He knows the air blows too dry on the 13th floor, he’d have to speak with Joshua about that. 

“Do you still want to do this?” He asks softly, as you roll your eyes, shuffling across the soft carpet to your kitchenette. You don’t want to eat anymore, but you do it anyway. 

“Lets not, this is breakfast.” It’s too much to think about when you’re this tired. 

“I have to ask.” Every goddamn day. You ferociously took a bite of your banana. You want to yell at him, but you can’t. He had you spoiled.

“Anwar, This is my job. I can’t not do this.” You want it to be 2019, where your biggest problem was coordinating your boyfriend’s trip to a music festival. You’d give anything to go back there. 

“I don’t know how to ask you to stop.” He blinks, and you want to go back to bed. Maybe you’d smother yourself if you wanted, who would find out?

“So don’t.” 

“I miss you. I’m scared and I miss you.” He lost Maxxie and it had made him worse. He’d taped himself back together, but there would always be a hole in his life where Maxxie was supposed to be. Losing you was something he couldn’t come back from. 

“What time are you off tonight?”

“I have no idea.” You half-laugh, half-cry in response, leaning back against the wall, watching his face get stiff. 

This is unbearable. 

There’s a long silence, broken by a sharp knock at the door. 

“Are you going to get that?” You shoot him a look, carrying him with you as you head over to open the clean white door. He watches intently through the screen as you pick up what he’d sent you, waiting for you on an inappropriate doormat he’d had sent over from BIGLOTS.

A pair of Nikes, high-tops to support your ankles, padded an obscene amount. They’re a pastel yellow, your favorite color. 

“They’re beautiful.” You feel your eyes getting wet, looking down at the shoes. Little sunflowers embroidered on the back of each shoe. He knows you so well.

“I’m an ordinary woman. I didn’t think such violent things could happen to ordinary people.” 

“A Brief Encounter.” You smile at him. The two of you met at a film festival down south, “I’ve fallen in love.” 

“Be safe.” I love you. 

“You too,” You reply, cool. You hear a low beep. Anwar had been screen recording. 

He thought you wouldn’t notice, but you had. He’d been doing it a lot lately. 

I love you too


	3. Lockdown with Joshua

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're a rich housewife who needs to be more careful.

April 2020. 

It’s not quite right, and yet it somehow is. The world, your world, has changed so drastically in such a short amount of time, and yet you’re together. 

You’re doing alright. 

The two of you had barely gotten married, and gotten back to New York before COVID-19. Your city, your home, had been hit the hardest. Your mind was being pulled a million different ways at once, and yet your most collected though was how Joshua, your husband, had grey in his hair. 

Your wedding seems far off. He’s your husband. He’s your actual husband. He swore up and down he’d get the both of you on the most insane honeymoon as soon as possible. You told him that having him to yourself was the best gift you’d ever gotten.

And you’re both right. 

You make it work. He’d been distant, but you love him enough to take his partial attention. You walk into your penthouse to see your husband flopped down on the fully-functional couch, flattened by the day. 

He’d been protecting his employees where the government was failing them, he’d earned deflated.

You kicked off your shoes, and sat down right next to him, settling your head on his chest, both of you listening to the news. 

You hate the news these days, “One of the biggest donors to the Biden Campaign includes Tech Guru Joshua Madika, followed by Mark Cuban and several high-profile actors including Dev Patel, and Zendaya Coleman.” You feel Joshua begin to play with your hair as you close your eyes. 

Joshua’s the sun, nothing else matters.

“Rare shots of the reclusive Mrs. YN Madika were caught today back in their old stomping grounds in the Bronx, armed with bags of groceries, accompanied by several members of her security team.” Oh no. Oh no. Your blood goes cold as you feel Joshua tense. You pull back to see his face half-lit by the cold light of the TV. 

“You went to the Bronx today?” Joshua keeps his voice low. He knows you hate it when he yells. He stands up, staring down at you. You stand up to match his height as best you could. Was this your first fight? Almost six years of knowing each other, and this is the first time you fight. During a Pandemic. 

You’re going to keep calm. 

“I did, why?” You ask evenly, crossing your arms. 

“Why?” His face gets hot, it’s taking everything to keep his voice down, he won’t do it. He won’t break. Yelling is never a good way to get your point across, and it wouldn’t make you understand his point of view, it just wouldn’t.

“For fun, take a guess?” You gesture to the photo, still on screen while the journalist yammered on about your career. The grocery bags were obvious. 

More often than not, you miss the meaning of things. Perks of the medication. 

“I just-” He cuts himself, huffing while he rubs his hands over his face. His hair seems to get more grey every time you see him. What if you’re the reason. 

“Joshua, the world’s on fire, I needed to check on my people!” He huffs again, angling away from you, “What’s the issue?” What did he think you did all day other than paint? You can’t paint at all hours that would get old quickly. 

“For fuck’s sake, YN,” He’s at at full volume, you take a step back.” they’re turning parking lots into morgues.” 

He’s right. 

“Should I just stay here forever then?” You didn’t speak with malice, it was a legitimate question. He puts his hands out in front of him, as if to steady himself. 

“I didn’t say that, you know I didn’t say that.” 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do?” Your voice gets away from you. If you’d been sick again, you would have kicked the coffee table and broken a toe. 

Spinning out seemed like a luxury now. The frustration was real, comes to sit on your brain, a bright red cloud . 

“You don’t go alone next time, understand?” You suddenly feel like the air has been sucked out of your lungs.

“Just ask me. I’ll make it work, I swear.” His puppy dog eyes came out in full force, you suddenly feel like the worst person you know. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” He grabs you by your waist, pulling you into him, “please take me with you.” Joshua’s voice gets quiet as he hides his face in your hair. 

You’re going to burst into tears, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.”


End file.
